My Daddy died 6 years ago today. Went for a bike ride on a mild Saturday morning, ordered seeds for the garden, mailed letters to several of his grandchildren and by late afternoon he was gone.

My mother had to plant the seeds that year. The letters arrived a few days later like notes from the other side.

We were on the road in Birmingham when we got the news and cancelled the rest of our tour for the longest drive home. I was called upon by the family to write his obituary. The Amish built a simple pine box, and we laid him to rest high on a hill near a big sugar maple.

This morning, I was working in my writing shack and two bluebirds arrived
at one of the little bluebird houses that my father built, carrying the sky on their backs. They fluttered around for a bit, like tips of watercolor brushes dipped in something bright, piercing with hope the otherwise drab March landscape.

Days like these, I try to remember to let the people I love know that I love them. I encourage you to do the same while there’s still time.

Peace like a river,

Linford